


A Leap for Al

by dramatic owl (snarky_panda)



Series: Long Way Home [2]
Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Angst, Drama, Episode Related, Friendship, Gen, Post-Canon, Trope: Kidfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 00:04:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarky_panda/pseuds/dramatic%20owl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A leap into 1944 has more far-reaching effects than Sam realizes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Leap for Al

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LJ 5_times challenge prompt: lost and the DW trope_bingo trope: kidfic (free space). Disclaimer: Not mine, just this story.

_**New York City** _  
_**November 19, 1944** _

Leaping in, Sam's first awareness was of sound, not directly around him but in the air nearby – the hum of traffic and honking of horns, the rumble of buses and trucks.

Quickly he worked to get his bearings in the new time and place. He stood alone on a sidewalk in the shadow of a rundown four story brick building. Across the secluded narrow street was a fenced-off vacant lot overgrown with wild grass and littered with debris. Cigarette butts and other small pieces of trash were strewn about the ground and an empty mashed-up wooden crate lay in the middle of the street, crushed by the wheels of a car probably. Gazing off to his right he could see the top of a nearby bridge, to his left more buildings in the distance.

The color of the sky and angle of the sun showed it to be late morning. He shivered in the chill wind and realized that wherever he was it was autumn coming on winter. For a change the clothing he wore upon arrival was not completely adequate for the climate. Threadbare tan trousers, shabby brown shoes that had seen better days, a worn-out brown sweater over a collared shirt and a thin brown coat made up the entirety of his attire along with the brown fedora he was holding in his hands and which he now put on his head. It would keep at least some heat in. He buttoned up the coat too now that his hands were free.

For a while he remained there, shoulders hunched against the cold, arms pinned to his sides and hands in his coat pockets, coveting the hot tropical climate of the last two leaps. Absently he noted the group of boys scampering through the grass in the empty lot and wondered how they'd managed to get in when it appeared to be off limits and the last place they ought to be playing.

 _Probably climbed over the fence_ , Sam thought, wondering if he was here for one or more of them.

They were different ages and came in all sizes and shapes. All wore newsboy-type caps and brown or grey winter jackets except for one small boy with a mop of dark curly hair who had no hat or coat but didn't seem to care at the moment. He ran about in a grey sweater, laughing and hollering with the others, clearly oblivious to the cold and enjoying himself.

Rustling paper on the ground caught his attention, a crumpled page of a newspaper pulled along in a gust of wind. He picked it up and unfurled it. It was from the _New York Times_ , confirming that he was in New York City or its vicinity. His eye was immediately drawn to the date at the top.

_November 17, 1944!_

Sam couldn't believe it. There had been one other time, maybe two, when he leaped before the beginning of his own life span, but those were extraordinary circumstances. Once it was after the simo-leap with Al, after which each of them got a small part of the other's mind in the process of switching places. Sam was able to leap back into 1945 to save Al's life because a part of him _was_ Al. But that was all in another timeline. One leap had changed things, he discovered when he leaped to Rio in 2003 to help Al and his daughter. One leap to Beth to give her hope that her husband would return to her completely changed the path of his friend's life. The Al he encountered in 2003 was a stranger meeting him for the first time. The link between their minds never existed. He had no idea how he'd managed to leap all the way back to nearly ten years before his life began. Was he now able to leap beyond the parameters of the string theory of time travel?

He looked up at the sound of shouting and saw that a man was standing at the end of the street by the fence ordering the children out. A dozen boys scattered, several climbing over what appeared to be cinderblocks at the far end of the lot. Others came crawling through a rip at the bottom of the metal barrier, pouring onto the street and disappearing around the corner. Three of them walked over to the man after scrambling through the fence opening, including the little mop-topped boy with no hat or jacket who was nearly two heads shorter than the others. One of the boys began to speak to the man, gesturing to mop-top as he talked. But the man shook his head regretfully and left with the two bigger boys.

Mop-top turned and came trudging along the street toward Sam, dejectedly scuffing his little feet as he walked.

"Oh my God," Sam exclaimed under his breath as the boy drew close and with a shock he recognized a very young Al Calavicci.

Even under the dirt and with so many years off his face Sam would know that expression, those soulful dark eyes anywhere. November 1944. Al was ten years old, though he was much smaller than most boys his age would be and looked younger. This Al's mother had already left the family long ago, his father was dead by now and his younger sister Trudy sent away to an institution because that's what they did to kids with Down syndrome at this time. He was completely alone in the world.

Sam stood with his mouth ajar watching him pass then he began to trail after him as if hypnotized. Young Al wore only the grey sweater, navy blue trousers and black lace-up shoes, all of it old and worn, and he shivered visibly in the cold November air now that he wasn't distracted by play. As he followed the little boy around a corner and onto a main street a vague recollection came to his mind of Al in another timeline talking about running away from the orphanage.

" _I was cold, I was scared, I was lonely…"_

He wasn't certain he was here to do anything for Al or if he ought to interfere with his life at all. Despite the hardships, even tragedies in his young life Al managed to do just fine the first time around, without his intervention. In fact he grew up to be an extraordinary adult who did extraordinary things. But Sam was too curious and concerned about him to simply let him go. Maybe he could at least give him the jacket he was wearing.

#

Newspapers on display at a corner stand informed Sam that today was Sunday November 19th and he noticed now that he still held the crumpled page of the old paper that he'd picked up off the ground. He tossed it in the garbage can at the curb.

The ten-year-old version of his old friend led him away from the river and the bridge he'd seen, through streets lined with four and five story buildings, all residences and store fronts. Laundromats, candy and yarn shops, a jewelry and watch repair shop, a barber shop with an old fashioned red, white and blue striped pole, that offered ten-cent shaves and fifteen-cent haircuts. Some of the store signs were in Hebrew letters – he had no idea what they said but he recognized their appearance. Signs in the windows of several residences announced that there were rooms to let. The air smelled of the hot sweet potatoes and frankfurters that street vendors were selling off of their carts and the curbs were lined with parked trucks and old model Plymouths and Dodges. Despite the chill in the late autumn air people were gathered outside, standing in front of stoops or sitting on the steps, chatting, reading newspapers or waiting for their friends, children played on the stoops that hadn't been commandeered by adults.

An altercation of some sort was taking place near one of the sweet potato carts halfway down one street. Adults and children alike looked on as a couple of men argued with the vendor. Al moved closer to the action, apparently finding the commotion very interesting, at least for the first five minutes or so. Then he slipped out from among the quarreling men and gawking spectators and strolled off down the street, one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around his thin little body, and turned another corner into an alley with no outlet. A moment later his head disappeared. Drawing closer Sam saw that there was a concrete staircase on one side that led down to a locked basement. The little boy was at the bottom of the stairwell huddled on the ground in the corner, munching on a sweet potato that Sam hadn't even seen him lift from the cart and trying to stay warm.

_Oh, Al._

He didn't want to scare the child so he casually continued on without stopping. Up ahead the alley opened into a courtyard surrounded by the nearby buildings.

Al had rarely shared stories from his childhood but Sam remembered hearing a few. Stories about living in the orphanage and not liking it, about running away and what life was like on the streets. His own childhood had been privileged, he'd come to realize a long time ago, especially when compared to Al's. He knew things were difficult for his friend as a kid but experiencing the reality of it right before his eyes was jarring. Who knew how many days he'd already been on the streets at this point?

" _I was cold, I was scared, I was lonely. I got so desperate I even tried to pick a guy's pocket."_

"Black Magic's!" The vivid recollection came upon Sam so abruptly and powerfully it made him halt in his tracks. He stood rooted to the spot, absorbed in the memory of that leap. The pool hall, the image of an old black man with glasses thick as Coke bottles staring back at him from the bathroom mirror, Al beside him talking excitedly about Charlie 'Black Magic' Walters, pool giant and the man he'd leaped into to help that time.

" _He didn't turn me in to the cops. He fed me. He bought me a jacket. He said to me…that kids shouldn't be in orphanages. That a kid should be raised by a family and I should travel with him until we could find one. Well I did. We drifted around together…we went to Chi, went to St. Louie, went to the Big Easy. Where…he got busted for shooting pool in a 'whites only' pool hall."_

Sam wondered if maybe this was the day Al met Black Magic. Al was ten so this was the right year. He knew how important that man was to his friend, what a difference he made in his life. If help was about to come to him was Sam's intervention needed? And if not why had he leaped here to where Al was again? In an odd way he was doing exactly what he'd originally intended to do traveling in time – or at least what he thought he intended – to observe the past without interfering in it, without changing things.

Unless…was it possible that he was here to make sure Al met Black Magic, that there was some kind of recursive loop occurring in which Al had been telling him about an event that _he_ had already made happen and would make happen again? It was strange the way he kept encountering him on his recent leaps, he mused, as if Al was somehow calling out to him through time.

The scraping of metal behind him drew Sam back to the present and he straightened, turning to see what the noise was. A young woman dressed in a full white apron had come through a door and was setting out a trash can. Sounds of running water, utensils and pots banging inside the half-open door revealed it to be the exit from someone's kitchen. She disappeared inside again, the door shut and a moment later Sam saw small hands close around the railing that cordoned off the stairwell and then Al poking his head up to peer at the garbage can.

"No…" Sam whispered and his hand went to the pocket where he normally kept loose change. There couldn't be any harm in giving the child change so he could get something to eat from somewhere other than the garbage, could there? He just had to figure out how to approach him without spooking him.

But when Al finally crept back up to street level he only eyed the metal bin dubiously, went over and lifted the lid, looked over the contents and then replaced the cover. There was obviously nothing in there worth taking and the little boy didn't look surprised. It was 1944 and America was still rationing, Sam remembered, still salvaging every last scrap of everything and wasting nothing.

Al walked back to the street and turned right. Sam hurried after him, having made up his mind to help him get some food. He was nearly caught up to him at the next intersection when he glimpsed the ball that had come bouncing off one of the stoops and now rolled into the street, between the passing cars. Before he knew he needed to he'd forgotten about Al and was lurching forward, blocking the path of the small child that had come dashing after it. She rammed into his legs instead and then looked up at him with dismay in her dark eyes.

"It's okay." Sam knelt down, resting his hands on both her shoulders and meeting her eye. She was tiny, not quite four feet tall yet, with dark pigtails. "But don't ever run into the street without looking. Ever. It's dangerous."

Her eyes wandered past him and to where the ball had landed.

"Hey," he said, keeping his voice soft but firm and drawing her attention back, "the ball can be replaced. You can't. I'll go and get it for you. But you have to be careful from now on, okay? You shouldn't even step off the curb without a grown-up holding your hand." He glanced about, wondering where the grown-up she belonged to might be then brought his gaze back to her. "Okay?"

Staring at him solemnly she said in a timid voice, "Okay."

"Wait here and I'll go get it."

When the oncoming cars had passed and the street was clear he made his way to the other side to retrieve her ball, which had come to rest against the curb near a fire hydrant.

"Here you go."

She took it from him, mumbled a thank you and dashed back up the stoop where she'd come from. A woman was standing in the doorway to the building now, firmly calling 'Naomi' and beckoning to the little girl. Her mother no doubt. Probably she'd witnessed what just happened through a front window. She looked like she'd come running. After casting a harried but grateful look at Sam and mouthing a 'thank you' she dragged her daughter inside by the arm, scolding her for not staying on the steps like she'd been told. Her tirade was cut off with the slam of the door and with a shake of his head he continued on toward where he'd last seen Al. There was no sign of him on any of the streets that branched off of the intersection.

A hollow ache filled his chest even as he told himself that he'd obviously leaped here for that little girl and not to help his friend. In fact in a way his young friend had helped him, once more serving as his guide though unwittingly, and leading him right to the place and time he needed to be. There was an odd wonder in that. Little Naomi was getting her ear chewed off right now, but at least she wasn't lying in the street beneath a car.

With a melancholy sigh Sam crossed the street at the intersection and ambled on aimlessly, wondering if there was something else he needed to do. He didn't feel ready to leap yet. He wandered past more store fronts and walk-up apartment buildings, more children laughing and playing on steps and sidewalks. It was extraordinary how even the littlest children played so freely here on these city streets without adult supervision. He grew up on a farm in a small town in the Midwest where everyone knew one another, people didn't need to lock their doors and there were far less dangerous things. But this was New York City.

In a small park at one corner another group of boys romped about and his eyes searched futilely for a small hatless boy in a grey sweater among them. A sense of desolation permeated him and he lowered his head, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets and pushing on.

His stomach began to rumble and he recalled seeing a sign for a luncheonette down one of the streets he'd crossed a couple of blocks back. He turned and retraced his steps, thinking wryly that maybe he hadn't leaped out yet simply because he needed to eat.

He spotted the prominent red Coca Cola sign down the street to his left and turned. Five girls were jumping rope on the sidewalk across from the luncheonette, all of them wearing heavy coats over their dresses and skirts. He went inside and hung his hat and coat up on the rack near the door. Relishing the warmth and the smells of coffee and frying potatoes in the place he took a seat at the counter and perused the fare listed on the board above his head, quickly calculating that he could definitely afford a bowl of soup and a cup of coffee.

Sam's gaze lowered to the mirror in front of him and he stared, still somewhat dazed to see his own grown self reflected back again after so many years of seeing other people's faces. His cleft chin in his now care-worn and lined face, a prominent shock of white in the front of his thick sandy brown hair, crows' feet in the corners of his grey-green eyes. The changes that time had wrought to his visage while he wasn't paying heed were unsettling. Were there even more grey hairs on his head than last time he saw himself? Unconsciously he raised his hand and swept the white lock aside with two fingers. It spilled back onto his forehead as soon as he released it.

"It's a nice face."

The waitress's voice pulled Sam out of his reverie. She was facing the mirror and studying his reflection too, standing to one side of him so as not to block his view of himself. When she saw that she had his attention she turned to look directly at him, still smiling affably.

"What can I get for you?"

She was a matronly woman, probably in her late fifties, with blue eyes and greying brown hair that was tucked up neatly into the powder blue cap with white trim that went with her uniform. The name 'Gertrude' was embroidered on her upper left pocket. There was kindness and something else in her voice and expression when she spoke to him and his throat began to inexplicably tighten. He forced away the lump that threatened to form and gave her his order, greeting her by name with as amiable a smile as he could muster.

When she had gone his eyes briefly shifted back to his image in the glass. Frowning he allowed his gaze to wander down the length of the mirror and flicker over the reflected faces of the other people sitting along the counter beside him. It settled on a familiar face at the end and his heart skipped a beat. A black man with glasses, ten years younger than when Sam saw him in the mirror so many leaps ago, the hair not nearly as grey, the lenses not nearly as thick now. But it was without a doubt Charlie 'Black Magic' Walters. The child next to him had his face bent over a bowl of soup but Sam could easily see the top of his dark curly head. Black Magic pushed another bowl in front of the little boy as Gertrude removed the one he was cleaning and in one smooth movement young Al lifted his spoon from one bowl and placed it right into the next without missing a beat.

Moments later Gertrude brought his order and Sam dug into his own soup, raising his head now and then to glance at the reflection of the pair at the end of the counter. Black Magic was doing the talking while Al continued eating as if he might never see food again, nodding every once in a while. A couple of times he looked up and smiled at the man who was being so kind to him. Warmth spread through Sam's chest and the empty aching inside began to ebb.

Black Magic and Al were still eating when he stood up to pay his bill. He walked out of the luncheonette, leaving his friend in good hands and on the verge of embarking on one of the better experiences of his childhood, when for a short time he'd have a family again. For a while Sam stood in the shadow of a nearby awning, thinking pleasantly on that and watching idly as the same group of girls jumped rope across the street. Or maybe they were different girls who looked similar. Paying closer attention to them now he thought they made an interesting picture - the two standing at each end turning the rope were identical twins and they reminded him of Ella and Fina, Al's twins, with their long dark hair. His lips twitched into a small smile.

Some moments passed before it hit him and he nearly staggered backward. He knew Al's twin daughters' names! And what they looked like. Was it possible? His leap to Beth had altered everything, and Al had only mentioned Samantha and Trudy by name during that leap into Rio not the twins, he was sure of it. He felt a spark of hope. Something about this leap had changed things again. He'd only stopped a little girl from running into the street, but maybe somehow it made a difference and their paths crossed after all…

But he had no time to ponder it further for the leap began to take him and the tableau of the jump ropers and 1944 New York City dissolved before his eyes.


End file.
